


How the Caged Bird Sings

by Shadaras



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kryptonians Have Wings, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom/sub, F/F, Painplay, Superpowers Used For Sex, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: “You need more practice controlling your strength in high-stakes situations,” Laurel had purred into her ear once, after a team-up where Kara had mostly been giving and taking blows to protect her friends. Laurel’s hands had been on Kara’s biceps then, and Kara’d been stunned by the imposition but intrigued, too. “I’ve heard you’ve had partners, but have you ever—” Laurel leaned in, and her vocal control wasimpeccablebecause it had to be but Kara wouldn’t have guessed it could be turned to this “—fucked someone?”Kara had shaken her head, heart racing and face hot. Laurel had laughed in her ear, and outlined a plan for— well,this.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Earth-2 Laurel Lance
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Wingfic Exchange June 2020





	How the Caged Bird Sings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



“Does everyone from your world have wings?” Laurel asks, and it’s maybe a question Kara thinks she should’ve asked earlier in their relationship (whatever this relationship is—practice, training, a release?) but it’s not like either of their lives are really suited for personal questions that aren’t part of their jobs.

Laurel’s also stroking her feathers idly, which is making it hard to focus. It feels good, though, and Kara tries to relax into the restraints keeping her tilted forward and holding her wings open. It’s hard, because part of the game they’re playing is that Kara’s still got all her powers and no matter how well-made the ropes and straps are, they’re still just that: mundane twine and ordinary leather, made to hold someone like Laurel but being used on someone who could break it without a thought if she lost control.

(“You need more practice controlling your strength in high-stakes situations,” Laurel had purred into her ear once, after a team-up where Kara had mostly been giving and taking blows to protect her friends. Laurel’s hands had been on Kara’s biceps then, and Kara’d been stunned by the imposition but intrigued, too. “I’ve heard you’ve had partners, but have you ever—” Laurel leaned in, and her vocal control was _impeccable_ because it had to be but Kara wouldn’t have guessed it could be turned to this “—fucked someone?”

Kara had shaken her head, heart racing and face hot. Laurel had laughed in her ear, and outlined a plan for— well, _this_.)

Laurel’s hands leave her wings and Kara has just enough time to miss them before there’s a blaze of not-quite-pain running down her back. Kara hisses and tenses her muscles, remembering only at the last minute not to break free. It’s hard, especially since she can’t see—the lead-lined blindfold Laurel had arrived with had made something in Kara’s gut got hot and heavy and she’s still not sure why—but she focuses on her breathing, focuses on the sensation of pain she knows would break a human’s skin and tear them to shreds.

But she’s not human; she’s Kryptonian, and so instead of screaming she feels the sweat pooling at the base of her spine and arches her back into Laurel’s clawed toy.

Laurel laughs, and says, “You’re so good, aren’t you?” Her voice drops, and that’s dangerous, especially the way her words are starting to vibrate through the vanes of her feathers. It’s a buzz that travels up their shafts and into her bones, and, without meaning to, Kara moans.

“Oh, a good pet.” Laurel strokes her once, barehanded now, on the still-sensitive skin of her back. “But my dear, you still haven’t answered my question.” She’s moving, and Kara’s blood quickens as she tracks Laurel’s movement around the room and under her wings, until Laurel’s standing directly in front of her. “Do all Kryptonians have wings, Kara?”

Kara licks her lips. She wants to answer, she really does, but she isn’t sure she wants to answer more than she wants to know what Laurel will do if she doesn’t.

Her hesitation answers for her, and Laurel grabs hold of the collar she’d locked around Kara’s neck the first time they’d done this. It’s simple, as these things go: a woven loop of titanium alloy that would stand up to unenhanced humans easily enough, closed with a combination lock barely wider than the cord itself. It twists into Kara’s throat, and she’s reminded quickly and vividly of how—even if she can hold her breath for far longer than humans can—she still needs to breathe.

Laurel doesn’t test the limit, but holds it for long enough that Kara counts to twenty before she lets go and Kara falls forward with a gasp, feeling the restraints pressing into her as she finally relaxes into them. One, looping between her legs, slides against her cunt and she shifts a little, trying to encourage the touch.

She doesn’t manage it, really, not when Laurel’s paying such attention to her. “No,” Laurel says, firmly, and Kara stops. “Not until you answer my question.”

“Ma’am,” Kara protests, finally using her voice and then coughing because the word won’t come out easily. It’s stuck, but she can hear Laurel waiting patiently until her throat settles and she can swallow and try again. “Please, ma’am.”

“Answer the question, pretty bird.” Laurel digs her fingers into the coverts of Kara’s wing, and it feels good as they slide through. It’s not the same as when Laurel does the same to her hair; Laurel’s crueler to her hair, because she understands it more, knows how to stroke and tug and yank. With her feathers, Laurel’s always so delicate, like she’s afraid they’ll come out if she pulls with any strength at all. In some ways, it’s more worrying, because Laurel’s never been purely nice to Kara; any delicacy and grace is followed with or accompanied by something that borders on cruelty.

So Kara says, “Yes, ma’am, we all have wings,” because Laurel expects her to be polite and accurate when they’re doing this. And it’s true, anyway: her mother’s wings had been sky-blue, darker near the shoulders and lighter near the tips, like the oncoming dawn; her father’s had been the deep vibrant red of the sun. Hers are a mix of the two; her coverts are mostly red on top, mostly blue on the bottom. Her flight feathers shade from blue at their bases to red at their tips; when they’re spread and lit by the Terran sun, she’s been told she looks like she’s haloed in fire.

She can’t show them when she’s Kara Danvers, of course. But Kara Zor-El, Supergirl, can wear them proud and clear and not spend every moment of her day bound to the earth. The pressure that holds her wings in is a reminder to Kara Danvers of all the things she can’t do. The pressure of her wings wanting to expand is a constant reminder of all she should be. Times like this, when her wings are held open and not allowed to close even if she wanted them to—they’re dizzying, and sometimes Kara can’t think when she tugs and feels something holding her back.

“Good,” Laurel says, breaking her out of her thoughts, and she leans in and kisses Kara. It’s a welcome change, and Kara eagerly kisses back as best she can, but it’s hard when she can’t use her hands to brace herself and Laurel’s not helping. Laurel hums into Kara’s mouth, and the buzz ripples through Kara, setting all her nerves alight.

Kara loses track of even her attempts to respond, fingers twitching uselessly and wings flickering, the tips of her primary feathers just brushing the walls. Laurel’s teeth nip at her lips, and Laurel’s tongue fucks into her mouth, and Kara can’t do anything but hang there and whine, mouth open and ready for anything Laurel decides to do.

When Laurel pulls back, her hands slide to Kara’s neck, warm against the cool metal collar. “So,” Laurel says, sounding amused, sounding like she’s on the edge of dangerous. “Do you think you deserve a reward, my pet?”

It takes Kara a minute to remember how to think, and then—trying for the arch tone she takes with supervillains and knowing she’s falling incredibly short when her lungs won’t let her do more than pant—she says, “Isn’t that your decision, ma’am?” Kara twitches more purposefully in her bonds. They’re done well—they wouldn’t cut off circulation even in a human—but her nerves feel fit to burst and she wants a release.

Laurel runs one finger along the edge of her blindfold, smoothing Kara’s eyebrows. “That’s true.” She flicks Kara’s forehead decisively, then pulls back from any contact at all. It’s awful, and Kara misses it immediately. “Ask for it, pretty bird.‘

“Please,” Kara says, letting the words spill thoughtlessly out of her mouth, because this is a release even if it’s not yet the one she wants. “Ma’am, I want your hands on me. I want your fingers digging into my feathers, your body against mine. I want your mouth. Please, ma’am, have I been good enough for you to fuck me? I want that. I want—” 

She can’t stay still anymore, she’s spending all her effort not floating out of the bonds and so she’s shaking against them instead as Laurel stands still and just out of reach in front of her. But Kara’s ears are good, and she can hear Laurel’s heart and breathing speed up. She can almost smell Laurel’s arousal, hidden though it is in her own scent. Kara swallows, wanting to taste Laurel but knowing she’s not being kept in a position for that, and says, desperately, “I want you to use me for your own pleasure.”

Laurel laughs, then, and her control might be a little unsteady from how the sound ricochets through the small space they’ve made for themselves. “Are you sure, pet?”

“Yes,” Kara says.

It’s the last coherent word she says for quite a long time.


End file.
